


Noble Desserts

by NaomiPhoenix



Category: Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: M/M, crackfic, not to be taken at all seriously, sexual innuendo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-28
Updated: 2017-12-28
Packaged: 2019-02-23 06:05:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,830
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13183929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NaomiPhoenix/pseuds/NaomiPhoenix
Summary: Starring:  Darth Vader as 'The Hungry Sith'General 'Iron Max' Veers as 'The Stealthy Cat Burglar'And introducing Captain Firmus Piett as 'The Femme Fatale'





	Noble Desserts

**Author's Note:**

> This crackfic evolved from a conversation about diabetic relatives and their bad christmas eating habits XD

It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a Sith Lord retired to his meditation chamber is in want of reflection - not the wafting scent of baked goods.  
  
However little he was capable of consuming, the heavenly smell of pastries, partnered with the scents of succulent fruits and exotic spices, danced around Lord Vader, caressing his nostrils and aroused in him cravings he had not felt in many years.  
  
That pernicious fool Kendal Ozzel would have a fresh basket of baked goods to laud over everyone by morning. Nabooian fruit tarts, Correlian cream puffs, Yowvetch and Muja donuts, Xirlia, Tal-toorim Smuggler’s Delight, Ryshcate, Kanali Wafers and buttersweet puffs were just the beginning of the delights which awaited the unworthy Admiral.  
  
It had been approximately two months earlier that Kendal Ozzel had first been surprised by an enormous basket of absolute bliss, left standing by the door to his quarters. Tied with a red ribbon bearing the Imperial crest, the pastries and other sweets were always artfully arranged.  
  
Though he had moved up a couple of uniform sizes since that day, the initial reception of the goods had not been so smooth. The overly cautious oaf had taken one look at the first basket and immediately suspected something so beautiful, and so delicious surely had to be an attempt at assassination. He had ordered it taken away, to be forensically studied.  
  
As soon as the first pastry was cleared, the rest were shortly consumed, but not by him. Ozzel only had himself to blame for the report of their deliciousness, delivered by creamy, syrup glossed lips and crumb speckled uniforms.  
  
So sinful, they had said. Like heaven exploded upon their palates.  
  
When the second basket arrived and Ozzel finally tasted the contents for himself, he swore to never share with anybody this culinary bliss, ever again.  
  
Its continuance was not to be borne. It was intolerable. Lord Vader was set on discovering this foolish admirer of Ozzel’s and setting them to rights.  
  
_He_ was a far more worthy recipient for such noble desserts.  
  
-*-  
  
Such a wicked scent, it could turn the most level-headed soldier to crime. For days now, Colonel Starck boasted of his successful pilfering of Admiral Ozzels’ goods and the rescue of a fine vintage of Correlian Whiskey from the naval officer’s lounge, by sharing the. And now the sweet, intoxicating scent to baked goods once again wafted to a strange assortment of quarters throughout the Executor. The army officer’s lounge was just one place to receive to receive the glorious aromatic gift. The fighter pilots bunks a floor above and some way over was well-known to have the scent drift in there also. There were other places too, General Veers knew. But those that were known didn’t line up, or triangulate to any singular source.  
  
But Veers was determined to discover it.  
  
Dressed to kill, or for stealth - depending greatly on ones point of view - in a form-hugging black catsuit, the General mounted a chair upon a dresser and squeezed his handsome form into one of the handful of ventilation shafts around his quarters; another of the rooms blessed, or perhaps curse, by the seductive aromas.  
  
It was never going to be an easy feat. The walls of the shaft seemed only to want to grip him as he thrust himself through. General Veers never expected a journey in search of a tasty treat would be fraught with such perils as he found. His nose did indeed lead him to the source and on the journey, past the aforementioned fighter pilots bunks.  
  
What a horrid, dirty bunch of kriffers he discovered them to be. And in quite a literal way! Used sexual protectants and equally used carnal aides blocked his path. But the General would not be stalled in his quest. Those sloppy pilots would return to find their refuse had been returned to them, and there would be a stern anonymous report waiting for Admiral Ozzel instead of his basket of baked goods come morning.  
  
The Rebel spy, for a Rebel spy it had to be, was almost, but not quiet, a more horrifying barricade. The mummified body could only belong to a Rebel spy. No one went unaccounted for aboard the Lady Ex. There was no telling how long it had been hanging down from the next level. His face had dried into the most grotesque mask; lips peeled back, lifeless eyes wide and cheekbones that could put even the late Moss Wilhuff Tarkin to shame.  
  
That he was in Veers way on such an important mission was unforgivable. With a great tug, the desiccated corpse of the Rebel traitor was sent further into the bowels of the Lady Ex.  
  
From then on it was a smooth journey. As smooth as shoving ones form through a dry narrow tunnel could be.  
  
Finally, he found what he was looking for.  
  
So had Lord Vader.  
  
-*-  
  
In place of his nose, sealed away under his mask and no longer tormented by the tempestuous odour of baked goods, the Force as ever was his ally, and lead him to his quarry. His stomach raged with a fury over its need to be filled.  
  
On wings of the Force, and at great peril of suffocation, for stealth was a must, he reached forth with all the power of the Dark Side - a mouth-watering Nabooian fruit tart answered; its slices of fruits perfectly sized and layered, spreading out from the centre like a rainbow in ever increasing rings, each precisely proportioned so each mouthful would be different from the next and all made glossy by a sheer, naked layer of crystal clear syrup.  
  
“My Lord!” Captain Firmus Piett appeared suddenly from a doorway partly concealed by heavily laden self-standing shelves and snatch the pastry right out of his Force grip and replaced it in the basket.  
  
If Lord Vader hadn’t been so distracted by his appearance and his eye-catching apron he would have immediately been infuriated by the Captain’s gall. But the apron was like something out of a cheesy Core holofiction, with frills and lace, multiple pockets and a gaudy, fruity print with shimmering gold highlights and ‘Kiss the Captain’ emblazoned in glittering Aurebesh- and it was far too oversized for such a petite man.  
  
Free to breathe again, he switched his respirator back on. “So they are not fit for my consumption but fit for Ozzel?” he demanded.  
  
“Exactly, my Lord,” Piett smiled coyly. Had he been able to see Lord Vader’s mouth he could not have missed the Sith Lord’s jaw making contact with the floor. But Piett wasn’t done bewildering him. “The subtlest way to kill a being is through their stomach. I wish you no ill, my Lord.”  
  
“What do you mean? You wish Ozzel ill by supplying him with baskets of noble desserts? How is that meant to kill him?”  
  
“It's something my mother taught me, my Lord: 'Too much of a good thing can be deadly.' I’ve followed her recipes to the letter. Real butter, rich with fats partnered with excessive amounts of sugar. Few survive more than a half-year. Not only has he moved up two sizes in uniform in the last few weeks, but have you noticed Admiral Ozzel is having issues with his breathing? By this point he's likely suffering heart palpitations too, though it’s hard to tell until they start clutching their chest."  
  
“What you’re confessing to is treason.” Lord Vader moved to tower over Piett.  
  
The Captain was flustered, but not intimidated. “With all due respect, My Lord: you didn’t transfer me to your ship to play nice with fools and career cheats. I’ve done my research. The Ozzel’s are corrupt as they come. Wealthy Core-worlders who can buy themselves into anywhere. None of Ozzel’s victories are his own making. He stole the credit from others. Competent men and women whose lives he then destroyed or ended for fear they might speak up. I’m doing everyone on this ship a favour. I just hope he succumbs before he can drive our fair lady into a planet.”  
  
-*-  
  
Sith Hells! The new guy had balls of durasteel. Investigating a superior officer, and when the fellow didn’t live up to his standards, plotted the fellow’s death - by pastry! By sugary and buttery goodness! What a way to go! Veers would have to make certain not to find himself on this Captain’s hit list, no matter how delicious he’s means of assassination looked and smelled.  
  
Still - just one taste wouldn’t hurt.  
  
If only Lord Vader would move on.  
  
And Lord Vader did move on - he made a move on Piett! It was so smooth even Veers stomach fluttered! One gloved hand reached out to collect some icing from the others cheek.  
  
Had he not already found himself in a tight spot, barely able to move, Veers would have been thrown when Piett made a counter-move, capturing the Sith Lord’s hands with all the brashness he had captured the fruit tart - only with his mouth.  
  
They weren’t!  
  
They couldn’t!  
  
How would that even work?!  
  
Finding out the answer was no different to watching two shuttles collide. Veers didn’t particularly _want_ to watch but at the same time it as so shocking, so fascinating, he could look away. Just as much as he needed to know and he regretted finding out.  
  
The codpiece really did serve a purpose. There was something there to protect. A whole lot of something. It would forever be burned into Veers’ retinas. It would forever replay itself every time he closed his eyes, heard something hit the floor or smelled baked goods. He’d never be able to look at either man without the remembrance of it.  
  
And he would never, ever look at butter the same again.  
  
They were like animals, the pair of them. Like mating rathars, limbs everywhere barrelling around the room making mess of everything.  
  
Everything that was, except the basket.  
  
And Veers had never failed on a mission and this, this - kriffing hell, how could be enjoying being in that position?! This was not going to stop him.  
  
His chance came when they stumbled into one of the self-standing shelves, knocking it over and tumbling into the other room to avoid it. He slipped from the ventilation shift and seized the basket, then was himself seized and thrown bodily from the room by an unseen force.  
  
Dazed and confused he found himself on this back, the basket safely nestled like a lover on his chest, in the hallway.  
  
Had Vader..?!  
  
-*-  
  
Lord Vader had sensed the General the moment he approached. He had to applaud Veers ability to stay on mission. The man would have a future for that reason and that reason alone - as long as he kept his mouth shut. But then again, who was going to believe him. He would let him have the basket and his life this day.  
  
Lord Vader, still hungry, found himself well-satisfied he had won himself the noblest dessert of all.


End file.
